Enemy Lover (12 page)

Before he could further contemplate her sexual prowess, the music changed abruptly from the one-two punch of hip-hop to a spicy salsa. Intrigued, Marcus moved around to the other side of the bar. She stepped onto the dance floor. And she did not disappoint.

Marcus stood rooted to the floor and watched, mesmerized by the slow, seductive sway of her hips and the way the little fringes on the hem of her dress rocked back and forth. The crowded dance floor thinned as those around her stopped and watched her one-woman show.

Her lush body swayed, offering illicit promises, then taking them back. Jaime materialized beside her, watching, his beady eyes blazing in lust. Turning toward him, she backed away from him. He stepped deeper onto the dance floor. Like a starved puppy, he followed. Away from his posse, away from the pouting blonde and into Marcus’s territory. Incrementally, Marcus moved closer.

Marcus scoffed at the man’s macho attempt to look suave on the dance floor. His stubby body bucked and shimmied while he tried to look tough. Did women really dig that shit? To Marcus, Tuturo looked like the fool he was.

But damn, he could not blame Jaime for putting on the struts for the redhead. She was prime. He sucked in a harsh breath when she dug her hands up into her hair, threw her head back and closed her eyes. Her long, smooth neck beckoned. He had the inscrutable urge to grab her to his chest and sink his teeth into her creamy skin. To feel her surrender that luscious body of hers to him, right here, right now.

Since his change from mortal to immortal, his primal male had on several occasions wrestled for control of his rigid discipline. Much as it did now. By nature he was a hunter; he lived for the chase. As a vampire, he could quickly eliminate his mark. As a man, he would relentlessly persue the woman who taunted him from the dance floor.

When she opened her eyes halfway and came to a slow, agonizing stop, then reversed the direction of her swaying hips, Marcus swore aloud. He sucked in another harsh breath when she turned and faced Tuturo. Suspicion sliced through the cloud of lust that held him hostage. What would a woman like that want with a piece of crap like Jaime Tuturo? Marcus stepped closer, sensing he was watching an act, a very good act, an act that, if played out, might blow his window of opportunity. When she shimmied again, this time dipping low, Tuturo sidled up behind her as she slowly stood. When she didn’t move away, Marcus knew something was up. He stepped onto the dance floor. She continued to sway her hips, pressing her ass, oh, so subtly up against Jaime’s crotch. As she did, she looked straight up at Marcus. A slow, seductive smile curved her full lips. She winked at him, then turned away.

What the hell was she up to?
And who the hell was getting played? Marcus’s lust ebbed.

Refocused on why he was there, Marcus had eyes only for Tuturo now. He moved in. Two steps away, the woman abruptly grabbed Jaime’s hand and pulled him down the hall to what Marcus knew were the bathrooms. Jaime’s posse closed in behind them, effectively making it impossible for Marcus to get close. The door to the
ladies’ room opened. The lady in red disappeared inside with a panting Jaime hot on her heels. Ten seconds later, the door opened again as two indignant women came rushing out.

Marcus halted in the long hallway. He had no recourse but to wait; there was no other way in or out of the restroom save for the one door. Leaning casually against the wall, he pulled his throwaway cell phone from his pocket and pretended to be texting. He was far enough away from the bathroom doors that Jaime’s boys ignored him. As he let one minute, then two, pass, his mind worked fast, flipping through the possibility that the woman had spotted him and was acting as Jamie’s shield. Did little brother suspect big brother had had enough? That would explain the way she’d played with him. And no way in hell was he going to let her get away with it.

When three stacked bottle blondes came stumbling down the hall looking to use the restroom, just as many of Jaime’s men told them they would have to wait. The women postured, pouted and used their wiles on the men. When one of the blondes pulled down her spandex sequined top and two impressive tits popped out, Marcus said a silent thank-you. A minute later only one of the thugs remained guarding the door. Marcus knew this would be his only chance. He also knew he’d have to take care of the lady in red. A fleeting stab of remorse needled his gut. He rushed toward the lone
Vela,
shouting,
“Reza! Reza!”
The guy started, looked up from his phone, then took off past him toward the club. When he did, the door to the ladies’ room opened. Marcus stopped, surprised to see a petite blonde emerge.

She smiled up at him, and he could have sworn she
winked before she hurried past. A harsh wave of cheap perfume followed her. Marcus moved quickly. He shoved the door open. Dead silence met his ears. The thick scent of blood hung in the air. As Marcus moved toward the end stall, he pulled the wire garrote from the inside of his jacket pocket and wound the thick plastic coated ends around his fists. He shoved the last stall door open and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Son of a bitch!”

Jaime lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, blood running in thick rivulets from the wide slice across his jugular. His pants and underwear were bunched around his ankles with a note pinned to his dick. Shoving the wire back into his jacket pocket, Marcus grabbed the paper.

You don’t get paid for what you didn’t earn

                            xo

There was an imprint of red lipstick lips.

“Shit!” He noticed the crumpled heap of clothing on the floor. He shoved the note in his pocket, then grabbed the red material from the floor.
Her
dress. He brought it to his nose and inhaled the musky scent. It smelled like her. He grabbed the stilettos and the red wig. As he shoved them under his jacket, realization struck him dumb. The blonde that just exited. It was
her.
Impulsively he grabbed the yellow bandana from his trouser pocket, tossed it down onto Jaime’s blood-soaked chest, then ran from the bathroom, knocking over several people as he rushed in a blur to the outside of the club.

When he got his hands on that little bitch, he was going to strangle her! He came to a skidding halt outside
the club. The sidewalk was unusually empty. He looked up the quiet street, then down. Nothing. Not one vehicle. No one walking on either side.

Gone.

Raising his head, Marcus inhaled. Despite the heavy perfume she’d worn, he could, in the cooling night air, smell her natural scent. He walked south on the sidewalk, following her scent to where it stopped. Other scents, dominant male scents, intruded. Then they were all gone. Slowly he exhaled. A car, waiting for her. It was here she got in and here it took off.

For a long minute, Marcus stared down the brightly lit street. He moved past his anger and his frustration to the calm that would give him the clarity to reason. There would be DNA on her shoes, in the wig, on her dress and, most likely, the lipstick kiss. All he needed was a hair or a scraping of skin, or a microscopic drop of saliva. Then he’d know who she was, and knowing who she was would lead him to where she was.

A sudden thrill zinged through him. A thrill he had never experienced either in his former life as a human or his current soulless life. He hugged the clothing beneath his jacket and smiled, then hurried to his rental just as the club exploded with screams and a rush of patrons out the front door.

Jaime’s body had been discovered.

At least they’d be looking for the redhead and not him.

And he’d be doing more than looking for his mysterious lady in red. He’d be closing in on her. Starting right now.

Sitting back and waiting for something to come to her wasn’t Jax’s style. She was a dive-in-and-get-her-hands-dirty kind of gal. Fortunately, she also did what needed doing, and in this case, she was going to do Marcus Cross one way or another. She nearly smiled at the thought when Gage’s voice came through the small audio device in her left ear.

“Target turned right on Michigan and is now approaching plant car at approximately twenty mph. Prepare to engage in less than thirty.”

From where she sat in the long shadows of the encroaching evening outside a small café, Jax savored the intoxicating rush of satisfaction even as nervous energy filled her. She felt a brief tinge of doubt but quickly pushed it away.

Round two was about to begin. She’d bested Cross once. She could do it again. The man was good, but she was better.

Even if he had made her sweat for a brief time.

For the past week, he’d been more elusive than a white tiger in Africa.

They’d lost track of him for a full three days, from the time he’d dumped her clothes in a blacked-out studio apartment overlooking Lake Michigan, to the time he’d
reclaimed them. He must like the scent of her dress, she thought viciously, because he’d gone back for it. He’d carried it with him when he’d retrieved the Tuturo payoff, and he carried it now.

Perv.

But it was all good, she assured herself. The hidden GPS chips had bought them enough time to set up. Whether he was headed back to his apartment or to O’ Hare didn’t matter; he wasn’t going to make it with the money.

And once more, she was going to make damn sure he knew she was the one who’d taken it from him.

“He’s almost there,” Gage murmured.

Holding her breath, Jax watched from behind dark shades as Marcus Cross came into view. Driving a sleek black Mercedes, he slowed to avoid the stalled car planted to stop him exactly twenty feet from her. As he did, he scanned the area, like a hawk wary of a bigger, badder prey animal lurking in the shadows.

“Now! Make contact, Jax,” Gage instructed.

She slid the shades from her face just as Cross’s gaze swept right, and their eyes locked. Her body jolted as if a live wire had been let loose and she gasped, almost involuntarily looking away. His penetrating eyes, however, refused to release hers as he slowed to a complete stop in the heavy traffic. She knew the exact moment recognition dawned. Under the glow of the streetlamp, his eyes sparked in fury.

Suddenly the hunter became the hunted.

Even as he was hit from behind by Shane’s truck, his black Mercedes slamming into the jalopy in front of him—even as his body lurched and the air bag
deployed—he didn’t flinch. No, he just shoved the air bag out of his face and stepped from the car.

Slowly, she stood, a small smile twisting her lips as she backed into the empty café. As planned, Dante jumped from the car in front of Cross and started railing obscenities while Shane angrily lunged from the truck buried in the Mercedes’ trunk. In the confusion, Gage slipped along the passenger side of the car and waited for an opportune time to lift the black briefcase with Cross’s blood money inside. Or rather, with hers. If he wanted it back, he’d have to make a deal for it. A deal to allow her into his world.

She was inside the café now, but at no time had Cross broken visual contact. In long, unhurried strides, he moved around the front of the wreck, ignoring her team’s attempts to engage him. He maintained one single focus.

Her.

And that’s exactly what she wanted.

Come to mama, baby.

She backed up, one slow step at a time, enough to keep him intrigued while her team continued to play the scenario out. Then, with a wicked grin, she ducked behind a wall and listened for the jingle of the bell on the café door.

Timing was paramount. The minute he strode through the threshold, she’d dart to the back of the café while the boys wrapped up. She’d hop in the waiting car and be off. Again.

But he never came through the front door.

Several long, silent minutes ticked by. In the lengthening shadows of twilight, Jax straightened and stood,
confused, as she caught the puzzled eyes of her team through the window.

Cross was nowhere in sight.

“What happened out there?” she softly demanded. What should have been a finessed sleight of hand had quickly turned into a major FUBAR.

“I don’t know,” Shane responded. “He . . . just vanished into thin air.”

“Impossible!” Jax hissed.

“The briefcase was empty—” Dante said from his position outside.

“Stone—any contact with the target?” she asked, knowing by now that he was in the alley behind the café.

“Nothing,” Stone answered.

“Jesus,” said Shane, exasperated as he looked at the damage to the pickup truck and shook his head. “How could he just disappear into thin air?” Dante walked up behind him and handed him a card. Shane nodded, dug into his back pocket and pulled his wallet out. He dug through it and pulled out a card. Dante handed him a pen. They acted as if they’d been exchanging insurance information.

“I don’t know where he is, but we’ re going to wait,” Jax said. “He saw me. He’ ll be here.”

“A firm,” Dante said and continued to play his part with Shane.

“I’m pulling my earpiece,” Jax said as she moved deeper back into the quiet café and watched for Cross. “Do not engage unless I give the signal.” She removed the small device from her ear and dropped it down her bra. Cross was smart. Smart enough to guess he’d been set up. He’d look for an earpiece and probably pat her
down for a wire. No way was she going to give him a reason to keep walking.